


Dare

by ClillaryHinton



Category: Ghostbusters (2016)
Genre: F/F, Fluff and Smut, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-31
Updated: 2016-10-31
Packaged: 2018-08-28 07:06:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8436115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClillaryHinton/pseuds/ClillaryHinton
Summary: Porn with a tiny amount of plot. And some fluff, because I'm apparently unable to write fluffless Holtzbert.





	

**Author's Note:**

> As always, thanks to Holly. My knocker stuff es su knocker stuff.

Erin is preoccupied, lost in her own thoughts. She walks into the old fire station bathroom and doesn't think to knock. The old lock can be capricious. One of the shower booths is occupied by at least 50 percent of what's keeping her preoccupied. They had considered putting shower curtains up in the doorless firemen's showers, but they haven't gotten around to it. So here she is, staring at Jillian Holtzmann, in the flesh. Correction: Erin tries not to stare: she really does. But there is so much naked skin. Her thoughts race as she tries to keep her eyes at a respectful level.

 

"Hey, gorgeous. Care to join me?"

 

She makes the mistake of looking into Holtzmann's eyes just as she winks slowly and smiles a wide, dimpled smile. Erin hates the winks. They make her feel like she's an instrument and Holtzmann knows exactly how to make her play her favorite tune. Her heart races, like it always does. Her mouth is dry. She's sick of pretending that Holtzmann isn't getting to her. That her constant flirting doesn't make her feel… unhinged. Sick of playing Holtzmann's games. Maybe she should play a game with Holtzmann, for a change?

 

It's a split-second decision as she shrugs the jumpsuit off. Quickly, before she has the chance to change her mind, she walks into the spray. Space isn't an issue: it was constructed to accommodate male firemen. They're not touching. Erin is still acutely aware of Holtzmann next to her: how could she not be?

 

"Shampoo?"

 

Defiantly, she stands with her back to her as she puts her palm out to receive the bottle. She doesn't even have to ask for the next bottle, the one that contained normal shampoo for people who didn't hunt ghosts and didn't need industrial strength stuff to get rid of ecto and other various ghost related gunk. Holtzmann cups her hand as she puts the smaller bottle of conditioner in her palm. Her hand is much warmer than Erin's. It feels good.

When she's done applying the conditioner, she knows she needs to turn around and face the music. Or Holtzmann, in this case. And the double dare of getting in the shower with her naked.

 

Holtzmann is no chatterbox, but Erin had assumed there would be a reaction. Some comment on the fact that that they were technically showering together. But there are no jokes. No one-liners. Holtzmann just looks at her. There is a softness in her eyes. She brushes her cheek with the back of her hand, like how you would approach a frightened animal you wanted to stroke. Erin wasn’t sure what she had expected, but not the tenderness on Holtzmann’s face. Holtzmann's eye makeup seems waterproof. Erin's isn't. Holtzmann brushes her thumbs along her cheekbones, then under the spray. Such a considerate gesture. She does it again, so apparently, it's a lot. Erin should care that she probably looks awful. She doesn't. She only cares about the look on Holtzmann's face, like watching Erin is the most fascinating thing ever. She takes her hand. When she doesn't pull back, she kisses Erin's palm. A chaste press of her lips, nothing more. Then her wrist. Erin thinks she feels the quick brush of a warm tongue. Holtzmann’s sense of wonder at touching her seems completely real. It's all it takes for Erin to forget the pretence of game or dare. 

 

She’s turned on now. A gentle, dull throbbing in her centre as she stares at Holtzmann's soft curves and pale pink nipples. The transition from joke to hunger takes her by surprise. She hasn't even done anything overtly sexual yet. If someone had asked her if they were having sex right now, she would still have said yes. Holtzmann brushes her lower lip with the pads of her fingers. Erin catches them and sucks gently on the tips. It's a cliché. The sort of thing people do in the movies to seem sexy. But she loves Holtzmann's hands. So nimble and commanding of the apocalyptic machinery she builds. At the same time, gentle. There's a distant look in Holtzmann's eyes now and her breaths are short and erratic, her lips slightly parted. It takes a few moments for Erin to realise that this is what she looks like when she's aroused. When she let's go of her fingers, they drop slowly and curiously brush Erin's nipple, just fleetingly. But a flame runs from that place to her centre and she burns for her.

 

She didn’t intend for this to happen. At least that’s what she tries to tell herself. She hasn’t walked into the shower with Holtzmann naked so that this would happen: Holtzmann’s hands on her, every movement curiously erotic, like the gentle squeeze of an elbow making Erin’s nipples contract and harden so suddenly that she needs to take a deep breath not to groan from the sensation. But Erin isn’t good at lying to herself anymore. She's more honest now, with herself and others. Abby has seen the change. “Not accurate.” She's right. She's seen how she's acted around Holtzmann lately, seen Erin try to lie to herself. But she wouldn’t have it.

Erin had walked into the shower hoping to provoke Holtzmann to either act on her insinuations or backing off. She was afraid to admit how much she wanted it to be the first alternative. This? This is an accurate representation. Of how she is sick of not doing what she wants to, sick of worrying about what others will think, or the consequences. This is accurate: she wants Holtzmann. She wants her to keep kissing her and possibly never stop. She walked into this shower ready to grab her and kiss her senseless, to provoke any kind of reaction, or to yell at her for playing with her confusion and her feelings. She hears herself make a soft sound when Holtzmann kisses her shoulder.

She grabs her and pulls her close, merging them. There are a few moments where they're both perfectly still, holding each other. Erin tightens her grip. She becomes more and more aware of Holtzmann's body against her own. The soft breast against her sternum, hipbone against her stomach. Her thigh just barely brushing Erin's centre. Nothing on her is hard. No risk of stubble burn as she presses her cheek against Erin's. Holtzmann’s breaths are laboured.

 

Ever since Holtzmann met Erin, the images of elegant machinery in her mind have been overshadowed by other visuals. What would Erin look like sleeping? How would her hand feel in her own? What would it be like to unbutton her shirt, untie the tiny bowtie at the top and feel her skin? How would Erin kiss her if she wanted her? They’ve skipped the prelude. Only the last piece of information is available. There is nothing Holtzmann wants to know more. Erin cups her neck, fingertips buried in the fine blond hair at the nape. Her thumb caresses the sharp angle of her jawline distractedly as she kisses her. The small, almost imperceptible motion makes Holtzmann's heart race.

 

Erin has no idea for how long they've been kissing, but it's not enough. She hasn't felt this greedy before, but it's just not enough. The kissing isn't a prelude but a thing in itself, impossibly lovely. When Holtzmann finally breaks it to kiss down her neck and her collarbones, Erin learns that what she thought she knew isn't true with Holtzmann. She has never liked her neck being kissed, she's too ticklish. With Holtzmann, she does. When she sucks her earlobe gently, Erin moans. A man did that to her once. She hated it.

 

She hasn't touched another woman's breast before and she hesitates. But then she does and Holtzmann makes a noise. A subtle, involuntary groan. Erin realises that all she needs to do to turn Holtzmann on is awkwardly touch her breast. The only thing she needs to do to be a good lover to Holtzmann, to excite her, is "be Erin". She can do that. She can do this. She moves her hand over Holtzmann's contracting nipple and hears the noise again, only louder and Holtzmann buries her face in her neck and arches into her. It's intoxicating. Tiny gestures. Yielding the life changing result of making Jillian Holtzmann sexually aroused. Erin touches a white hip, shapes her hand around the softness. When she lifts it, Holtzmann's skin blushes where she touched her.

 

Holtzmann presses her lips against her collarbone and breathes in her scent. She feels the salty taste of her skin on her lips as she continues down her sternum. She doesn't want to rush, but she can't help herself. Her hand trembles a little. She watches it in fascination. No one has had this effect on her before, this physical, visual testimony of desire. She's been almost an observer of her own sex life. Now, she's having trouble pacing herself, trouble trying not to hold on too hard. Trouble with self-control.

 

She does this thing... Erin's not even sure what, but it's like Holtzmann suckles her nipple and swirls her tongue around her areola at the same time. It makes her gasp and pull her closer to take more of her breast in her mouth. It's so hot, in more than one way. She can't stop herself from grinding her hips against Holtzmann, who gets that she's not supposed to stop, that Erin wants her to keep doing it until it almost hurts because her nipples are so hard and her breasts ache. She feels the difference between water and her own arousal on Holtzmann's thigh. Holtzmann understands a lot of things. Like when Erin impatiently grabs her wrist and she follows and sinks deep inside her in a smooth motion and Erin throws her head back and if Holtzmann's considerate hand hadn't been between her head and the wall, it might have hurt. But nothing hurts now. She hooks a leg around her waist to allow her to go deeper and increase the friction. The heel of Holtzmann's hand provides just enough of it to keep her on the cusp of coming. She's never come from penetration before, but she feels like maybe with Holtzmann, she could, if she just kept doing it long enough. But she doesn't want to wait, she wants to give in to this sensational thing happening to her body. She tries to subtly adjust her position to increase the friction, but it's still not enough.

Holtzmann sees the signs and gets down on her knees. She presses her lips against Erin's sex and stays like that for a few seconds, trying to tackle the sensory overload of being so close, filled up with her scent and the feeling of her warm arousal. Erin makes a little noise, pained and impatient. So Holtzmann kisses her, like she would her lips. She hates having this done badly, all tongue, no lips. No consideration. She hates when it's hurried, like it's something unpleasant to get over with. Like it's not an art form to make a woman come with your lips and tongue. She wants to do better than she ever has before. She wants to spoil Erin for anyone else. To have her remember other lovers as dilettantes compared to her.

Erin is hard and swollen on her tongue as she licks up in a slow stroke. She mumbles something unintelligible, digs her fingers into Holtzmann's neck and pushes her hips into her face. Holtzmann usually asks if it's good. She's a scientist, she likes to gather information. But Erin is easy to read. She continues and pauses to do the swirling motion that got Erin so worked up when she was kissing her breasts. Erin groans. It's a long, slow, sensual sound. Holtzmann knows if she was told that this was her last night on earth, it wouldn't be so bad. It wouldn't be so bad since she heard Erin Gilbert make that noise and knew she was the cause of it.  

 

Holtzmann's mouth. That's all Erin cares about right now. Her magical, hot, skillful mouth and her agile, sensitive tongue. She's vaguely aware that the water cascading down her shoulders is getting cooler. She pushes it aside, because she's so close now. Her fingers flex into the soft muscle of Holtzmann's shoulders, out of their own volition. She teeters on the brink for a few beautiful, aching, frustrating seconds before crashing into Holtzmann, shaking against her. The old room is an echo chamber. She hears the noises she makes amplified by the empty space and high ceilings. Or maybe she's just being really loud.  

 

She's limp in Holtzmann's arms now, heavy, but not sated. She needs to catch her breath and regain her fine motor skills and she stays like that a few seconds. She lifts her head from her shoulder and looks into her eyes. Holtzmann's high cheekbones blushes scarlet and her breath is laboured. Desire slams into Erin like a tackle. Holtzmann licks her lips slowly and doesn't break eye contact. She looks like she's about to say something, but she doesn't. Erin is relieved. This is magic, she doesn't want it broken yet.

 

Erin grabs her backside, pressing her closer, pushing her thigh against Holtzmann's centre and they kiss sloppily, without finesse. Erin isn't sure if it's the friction against her own sex or the feeling of Holtzmann's heaving chest and trembling arm around her shoulder that's turning her on. There's not enough friction to make her lover come, Erin knows that. But she loves this sweaty grinding, all of her against all of Holtzmann. She cruelly waits until Holtzmann makes a frustrated sound before adding her fingers and bracing her wrist as she grinds down on them, hard. It takes her a while to find the rhythm that makes Holtzmann rush toward climax, but she's a quick study, immediately addicted to the hot, slick feeling of Holtzmann against the tip of her fingers and her warm arousal on her palm. When she comes, Erin registers every little tremor and sound she makes. It's the hottest thing that has ever happened to her.  

 

The water is cold now and Erin shivers involuntarily as it splashes down her shoulders. Holtzmann pulls her away from the spray. She slams her up against the wall and presses her fingers against her sex, moving in short, disciplined circles around her swollen arousal. Erin focuses on Holtzmann's hand as her legs are shaking and she has to draw breath consciously to get air down deep enough in her lungs. It's like her body needs to learn how to deal with her intense sexual response to Holtzmann. She moans into Holtzmann's mouth, right before the moment of stillness that always happens for Erin before she falls over the edge.    

 

Erin reciprocates quickly, desperate to feel Holtzmann come in her arms again. Holtzmann subtly adjusts the angle of her hand and Erin registers the difference as her eyes drift shut and she comes with long shuddering breaths, an almost angelic expression on her face. It tugs at Erin's heartstrings when she grabs her hand and squeezes it as she climaxes.

 

Holtzmann's chest is heaving as she comes back down and she presses her overheated body against the tiles, but they're too warm to cool her down. She doesn't let go of Erin's hand as she quickly steps into the spray and turns her face up into the cool water. She tugs gently and Erin follows. She doesn't stay as long as Holtzmann; Erin gets cold. Holtzmann smiles softly. It's one of Erin's quirks. She can get cold whenever, wherever.

 

They still haven't talked as they step out of the shower. Holtzmann tucks a fluffy towel snugly around Erin and rubs her back to warm her up. Erin searches for the awkwardness in the situation, the flight response, the self-consciousness of hindsight, the reckoning for mistakes made. She doesn't find them. She remembers this feeling vaguely, like some long-forgotten childhood memory: cotton candy at the fun fair, her grandmother's laughter, the sounds of summer outside her window. She's feeling safe and loved. Like nothing terrible can happen. She knows it can. But she adores the illusion. She opens her towel and Holtzmann drops her own, quickly, and steps into the warmth surrounding Erin.

 

"So... "

 

Holtzmann hesitates. Someone should say something. But she's just as conscious as Erin about breaking the spell.

 

"Soo…" She tries again. "Wow."

 

It's stupid, but it's all she can think of.

 

Erin nods.

 

"Joke's on both of us, I guess."

 

Holtzmann shakes her head, a curt, abrupt motion.

 

"It was never a joke. Not for me."

 

Not a joke. Then; a courtship. That was the only name for it.  

 

Erin takes a deep breath.

 

"Maybe we could… Have dinner? Or something."

 

"Like a… date?"

 

"I guess."

 

"I should warn you. I don't...go all the way on the first date."

 

Holtzmann wiggles her eyebrows. Laughter starts bubbling out of Erin. Holtzmann's grin becomes wider and wider. Soon they're both doubled over, clinging to each other for support.  

 

When they leave the bathroom, her hand is held firmly in Holtzmann's. Erin glances at her and sees how she can't stop smiling. They walk in the same direction, to the same bedroom, without discussing it.

 

When they're almost there, Holtzmann stops.

 

"I'm in love with you. You know that, right?"

 

Gravity gives in. No pound weighs more than 300 grams as Erin nods.

 


End file.
